


An Adventurer's Folly

by Loyal_Minion



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Strong Female Characters, briefly, fucking adventurers, not literally tho, the peasants have had it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10075181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loyal_Minion/pseuds/Loyal_Minion
Summary: By the will of the gods, she will eat her thrice damned cheese if she has to slaughter every adventurer in Tamriel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have used the Skyrim wiki and my embarrassingly high amount of hours playing Skyrim to write this. Feel free to correct any errors, just please don't be an asshole about it. :)
> 
> (I wrote this at 3am)

**“I used to be an adventurer like you, then I took an arrow to the knee.”**

**  
-Various guards**

 

**\- - -**

 

  “Dragon! There’s a dragon in the sky!”

 

    “Oh for Talos sake--” Brynne bit off a curse as she threw the rake down and peered up into the sky, and sure enough, there was a dragon circling the watchtower near the city of Whiterun.  _ Where is a thrice damned Dragonborn when you  _ **_need_ ** _ them. Probably getting drunk in Riften. _

 

    Brynne considered herself to be a humble person, a simple farmer who was content to run her small farm and earn an honest living. She stayed out of the politics that plagued Skyrim, the constant push and pull of the Empire and the rebels. She had garnered a reputation for selling the best potatoes and turnips in all of Tamriel despite the harsh winters that had been near deadly the past few years. And her cheese wheels were unrivaled, even the ever disagreeable Battle-Borns and Gray-Manes had to agree.

 

    She certainly wasn’t one of those layabout adventurers, constantly looting bodies and innocent folks homes.  _ Honorless bastards. _

 

    Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to live on the outskirts of Whiterun, danger magnet of Skyrim.

 

    Even if she  _ did  _ have a lovely view of Dragonsreach.

 

    But back to the matter at hand, or rather, the matter in the sky. Brynne squinted against the afternoon sunlight, the large shape of the dragon outlined sharply in the stark spring air. She hoped one of the Companions had noticed the fuss, but it was only a matter of time before the guards scrambled to confront the threat.

 

    It took several seconds to notice the figure riding along the road, clinging to the back of a red eyed stallion and wearing what looked to be a rather shiny sword and by the grace of Mara  _ no-- _

 

    An adventurer had shown up.

 

    Brynne had nothing against them personally, they seemed content to take on monsters that even Brynne had no intention of fighting. It was what came afterwards that drove her blood pressure up. 

 

    So maybe it  _ was  _ personal.

 

    She picked up her rake again and began half heartedly tending to the garden again, keeping a sharp eye on the confrontation that was taking place nearly two fields away. It was nearly three hours later that the adventurer struck the dragon with a mighty blow, and it collapsed with a roar that Brynne felt was more than a little overdramatic. 

 

    The adventurer had obviously taken a few harsh strikes, and was currently limping towards the nearest farm within their sights.

 

    Which happened to be Brynne’s humble farm.

 

    Brynne had stopped watching the fight nearly an hour ago, the locals had gotten remarkably desensitized to the constant monster attacks, although they were often alerted by the scream of an overexcited farm hand who had just moved from Hammerfell and hadn’t yet realized that Skyrim was unreasonably prone to danger.

 

    So the adventurer had nearly reached her house before she noticed him. It was simply unfortunate that the adventurer had chosen a day that Brynne was already sweaty and irritated to test her patience.

 

    He had just enough time to bend down and begin to pick the lock before Brynne struck him sharply across the back with the handle of her rake. He let out a yelp and Brynne growled at him. “Not today!”

 

    He turned to give her a gratingly patronizing smile, “Do you, by any chance, have any cheese wheels I might eat?” 

 

    Brynne smacked him across his almost unrealistically pretty face before snarling, “I don’t have  _ any  _ for sale, seeing as the last adventurer tried to  _ steal  _ them.”

 

    “For sale? But you do have some? Did the last adventurer get them all?”

 

    She bared her teeth at him in a smile, and was a little gratified when he cringed away. “He didn’t get any before I cut him in  _ two _ .” Brynne may be a farmer, but her mother had been captain of the guard before marrying a humble cheesemaker, and had taught her a thing or two about handling steel.

 

    The adventurer paled slightly, “You’re a  _ farmer _ .”

 

    “That doesn’t make me  _ helpless _ .”

 

    It took nearly an hour and several more smacks with the handle of her rake before the adventurer limped off a little faster than he had arrived to harass some other poor farmer for food, and Brynne was able to go inside her home and eat one of her cheese wheels with a vicious satisfaction for dinner.

 

    She really should have guessed that her problems were only beginning.

 




 

    It took two weeks for the next adventurer to show up, and to be fair, Brynne hadn’t been expecting  _ anyone _ . No dragons had attacked, and the only problem was some wolves that were preying on the Pelagia Farm down the road, damn pests.

 

    So when an adventurer had burst into her house uninvited, welding a large sword that was a little embarrassing in how obviously oversized it was, and yelling something about looting for cheese, Brynne couldn’t really be blamed for shrieking and hitting him squarely across the face with a frying pan.

 

    It was a critical hit, and suddenly Brynne was staring down at a dead adventurer who really should have spent more money on armor and less on a sword.

 

_     Well, then. _

 

    With the ruthless pragmatism of someone who was living in a world where you could die from something stupid like eating tainted meat, Brynne dragged the body out back to fertilize her mountain flowers. She didn’t like looting bodies, it felt somehow disrespectful, so she buried him money and all.

 

    She kept the sword though, she thought she maybe deserved  _ some  _ token for dealing with this horse manure. She would offer a sacrifice for forgiveness next time she was visiting a nearby temple. Or something.

 

    She deliberately didn't think about what her mother would say.

 




 

    It took three more adventurers and a tiresome amount of digging for Brynne to realize she had a problem that couldn’t be resolved by the copious force of frying pans (although her flowers were blooming  _ beautifully _ ). If she didn’t get a handle (hah) on this she was going to get a visit from the city guardsmen and a quick trip to the chopping block. For some reason, adventurers had gotten it into their thick skulls that the tiny farm that was cradled in the shadow of Whiterun housed a challenge that would offer loot beyond imagination.

 

    So the next time she went into Whiterun to sell her turnips and potatoes, the last crop of the season, she stopped by Belethor’s General Goods. Belethor was a sleazy little rat, with greedy eyes and wandering hands, but the last time he had tried to cop a feel Brynne had broken his wrist.

 

    So she almost always got discounts here.

 

    Brynne bought traps and more potion ingredients than she needed, it had taken a good chunk of gold she had been saving for a moment of whimsy (or the day a dragon finally burnt her small farm down) but she was able to get her hands on an enchanting table and a scrappy little alchemy lab that took her two days to set up in her cellar.

 

    She sold her mother’s prized silver and bribed the local blacksmith into making her a fine set of armor and ignored the disapproving murmurs of the townsfolk and the considering glances from the Companions as she began practicing small amounts of magic, just enough to test her modest reserves.

 

    By the might of the Nine Divines she was going to be ready.




 

    “Don’t you think it’s a bit much?” Katla settled herself a little more comfortably in her chair as she glanced around at the small fortress Brynne had turned her farm into. It had taken some work, but Brynne had turned her humble abode into what was essentially a hulking weapon.

 

    Katla thought it looked lovely.

 

    Brynne offered her a cup of ale, and she accepted with a murmured thanks. She tried to make the trip out to Whiterun at least once a year, just before the harsh winter set in, but she rarely had a break from her farm outside Solitude and visiting was the only luxury that she allowed herself.

 

    Brynne scowled and sighed, “I don’t know how it started, Katla. They just fixated on my farm for some reason, and I’ll be damned if I let them take any more of my cheese.”

 

    Katla snorted, “Well,  _ someone  _ had to stand up to those adventurers, they’d have to kill me before I let them take any of  _ my  _ goods.”

 

    “I’m sure you would take them with you.”

 

    “If not, a killing contract should teach them a lesson.”

 

    They both laughed at the ridiculousness of  _ that  _ ever happening.

 




 

    It was an impulse decision, Brynne had been chatting with some Khajiit from a passing caravan when she heard snarling from inside one of the wagons. Thirty minutes and a lot of gold later she was in possession of an extremely irate pair of ice wolves. Apparently they had been caught as pups and tamed as guards. One snapped at her hand, while the other eyed her with a condescending huff.

 

    Brynne loved them.

 

    She let neighboring farms know of her newest acquisitions, and besides slightly incredulous stares and a few uneasy mutterings they let it be. As long as the vermin didn’t venture out of their territory there was an understanding. It  _ was  _ almost universally known amongst the farmers throughout Skyrim that if you didn’t take at least a few steps to guard your things they would disappear sooner rather than later. Brynne was just taking that a few steps further.

 

    Damn adventurers.

 

    The two brother wolves, named Rion and Tor, stalked around the edges of the property like ghosts, snarling at rabbits that pranced just beyond the boundaries. Brynne would have felt guilty if it wasn’t so amusing to watch.

 




 

    Three months, eight adventurers, and two burgeoning legends later, Brynne had amassed a decent amount of cheese wheels in her small farm, safe from any adventurers. Tor had gained a scar across his muzzle and Rion was now missing a chunk of his ear, Brynne had dispatched  _ that  _ adventurer with an enthusiasm that worried her a bit. Because it had never been about loot or glory or killing, it had just been about cheese.

 

    She just wanted to  _ eat her damn cheese in  _ **_peace_ ** _. _

 

    But she had invested in this, built up a reputation with no way out. The adventurers wouldn’t stop coming and she certainly wasn’t going to give up her cheese wheels. She was only lucky that the Jarl in Whiterun had no interest in what quests adventurers took, otherwise she would be looking at much darker problems. But she wasn’t going to let those adventurers win, not this time. Whatever that might cost her.

 




 

    Three years passed and now a maze of tunnels ran beneath the small thatch farmhouse, supposedly filled with traps and various creatures, and rooms piled with priceless loot and oversized swords. Two large wolves guarded the edges of the land, and under the hot sun an unassuming farmer tended to her turnips and potatoes.

 

    An adventurer cautiously eyed the feral beasts that roamed a short distance away, and gripped his brand new sword a little tighter in his sweaty hands. Legends spoke of a demonic woman that commanded legions of monsters at a whim, feared by Talos himself. That whomever made it past her deadly traps and violent trickery would be rewarded with the greatest of prizes.

  
    And this adventurer, like many before him, intended to be the first to claim that reward.

**Author's Note:**

> Every comment is another cheese wheel that escapes the gaping maw of an adventurer.
> 
> Donate to the cause below.


End file.
